


The One Time Working Over-time Was Worth It

by tatterwitch



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 07:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: Shiro has resigned himself to a Christmas spent in solitude as he works late at the office.That quickly changes when Keith catches him singing Christmas carols in the break-room.





	The One Time Working Over-time Was Worth It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlelionbabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelionbabe/gifts).



 

The cursor blinked almost in-time with the cheerful beat of the music piping from the speakers by Shiro’s elbow.

Line upon line of text filled the screen he’d been staring at for hours. The laptop’s light seemed to brighten the longer he stared at the screen. His fingers ached almost as much as his eyes. 

The office’s air system kicked on, making the tinsel that framed the top of the doorway sway and shimmer. If Shiro squinted just right, he could almost trick himself into thinking that the strands looked like pine needles coated in ice and snow. 

He sighed and turned his attention back to the task at hand. 

Something in the code just wasn’t right. It still refused to function correctly, no matter the tweaks he’d made.

Pidge probably would’ve already figured out the bug hours ago but Shiro hadn’t wanted to ruin her holiday plans. It was all she’d talked about for the past week. Really, it was all everyone had talked about.

Allura had been more than generous when it came to holiday leave. Voltron Tech would be closed for the holiday season until the new year. Well, technically speaking. 

The offices had been abandoned earlier by the last of Shiro’s coworkers. 

The blueish industrial lights hummed dimly overhead. Down the hall and throughout the building, garishly decorated office doors had been left closed. Tinsel and paper snowflakes fluttered in the faint breeze created by the air system. 

Shiro dragged his wandering eyes back to the laptop screen. The cursor blinked at him tirelessly. 

Line after line blurred by as he forced himself to concentrate. Frustration began to mount alongside fatigue. 

Then, he spotted it. Just at the very tail end of a line, a bracket was absent. Shiro quickly fixed the mistake and executed a test-run of the code. 

It worked flawlessly.

Plastic clattered against drywall as Shiro jumped to his feet in triumph. He pumped his fists high, joints popping in protest. 

This called for celebration. 

Shiro turned the volume on his phone up and slipped into the back pocket of his slacks. The cheery, catchy notes of the song had him singing along as he made his way to the breakroom. He didn’t bother to temper his own volume. The offices were empty besides him.

The pre-fab cabinets squeaked as they were opened. Shiro scoured the shelves inside. Almost everything had been emptied. In the far back of one, though, he found just what he was looking for.

The pale blue box was a little dented along one side, but otherwise fine. With a little shimmy to the last lyrics of ‘Feliz Navidad’, Shiro pulled a mug from another cabinet and set to filling it with water. The microwave hummed to life with a slight rattle from the glass plate turning inside. 

Shiro let his hips swing to the beat of the next song as he sang, waiting for the microwave to beep. 

He handled the mug carefully once it had. Steam curled from the still-bubbling surface. The packet of cocoa ripped easily under his fingers, the soft noise completely obscured by his singing. The milky brown powder dissolved into the water perfectly in the wake of a plastic spoon snatched from the bowl beside the microwave. 

Shiro turned, blowing on the still-steaming surface of the cocoa.

A man hovered in the threshold, hands wrapped around a half-empty cardboard cup from the cafe down the street. Dark hair was pulled back into a messy stub of a ponytail at the nape of his neck. A few stray chunks had fallen free to frame his flushed cheeks. 

Shiro startled, hot liquid splashing over the lip of his mug. Apparently on auto-pilot, his hands tried to correct the movement by jerking back the other direction. Cocoa slopped over the rim again. 

A rather undignified array of words dropped from Shiro’s mouth as he pulled his wetted shirt away from his skin. 

“ _ Shit _ .” The man in the doorway darted forward, catching a fistful of napkins from the table. 

He promptly pressed the wad to the drenched spot on Shiro’s stomach. 

The man’s hand was almost over-warm. 

This close, Shiro could count the piercings that climbed the man’s ear -- it was five -- and discern the way his lashes curled at the very tips. The edges of a tattoo peeked out from the collar of his dull grey shirt. A laminated badge emblazoned with the logo of Voltron Tech dangled by his hip. The stinging bite of bleach ruined the lingering cinnamon scent of the man’s shampoo.

“Do you have any ice?”

“What?”

Shiro blinked, dragging his gaze away from the way those chapped lips moved. 

The man removed the sodden clump napkins and tossed them toward the garbage bin. He made for the fridge.

Shiro tried to not to pay attention to the mournful feeling that rose up after the man’s hand left him. 

“Ice.” The man wrenched the fridge’s top door open and made a little ‘aha’ noise. “It’ll remove the stain before it sets.”

The plastic tray scraped over the frosted bottom of the freezer. The tray cracked as it was twisted between the man’s hands. 

Shiro’s fingers tightened around the handle of his mug. They were nice hands. 

The man glanced over his shoulder. “Well? C’mere.”

Shiro’s legs carried him forward without much thought. He set his mug aside finally and reached for the ice the man offered.

“It’d work better if you took your shirt off.” The man’s flushed cheeks pinkened further. “I mean it’ll be easier to get the stain out if the shirt was off of you.”

“Oh.” Shiro plucked at the buttons down his front and shucked the soaked material into the sink.

“Here, just kind of rub it over the worst spots.” 

Shiro accepted the cube of ice that was pressed into his palm. It had already begun to melt, cool water pooling in the lines of his hand.

The stain quickly faded under his ministrations. Shiro glanced over at the man.

The man’s hands twitched at his sides almost restlessly. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about your shirt. I’ll, uh, talk to my boss and have him take it outta my paycheck so you can get a new one or something.”

“Oh, no. You don’t need to do that.” Shiro frowned. “Especially when you were right. The stain’s almost gone.”

Shiro held up his shirt to prove the point. There was a wide darkened area from the water but the brown blot of cocoa has vanished. 

“Seriously,” Shiro smiled and offered his hand. “You don’t have to do that. I’m Shiro, by the way.”

The man blinked before carefully placing his palm against Shiro’s.

“Keith.” Keith said. “And I’m sorry if I startled you.”

Shiro laughed a little as he wrung his shirt out. 

“It’s fine. I just thought that I was the only one in the offices.” 

“That would explain the singing.” Keith pushed a pile of napkins through the mess on the floor.

“That bad, huh?”

Keith looked up, pausing for the breadth of a second. “It wasn’t  _ awful. _ ”

Shiro laughed. It took a moment to catch his breath. When he looked back at Keith, the man was smiling at him, one cheek dimpling the tiniest bit.

“Any suggestions on how to dry it?” Shiro shook his damp shirt out.

Keith leaned against the handle of the mop in his hands. The dimples of an old piercing appeared over his eyebrow as his forehead creased.

“I’d say try the microwave but you never know what it might smell like after.”

Shiro’s nose wrinkled. Coran had heated a plate of cod in there that afternoon. There was no way he was risking it.

Keith chuckled a little at the face Shiro had made. It was a rough, quiet noise that made Shiro’s insides flip.

“I’ll wait until I get home.” Shiro sighed. He’d just brave the cold in his undershirt and jacket. It wasn’t  _ too _ long of a walk to his car. 

Keith hummed before returning the mop to its bucket in the hall. His eyes flicked over to the flickering clock on the microwave’s control panel. 

“Kinda late. You that addicted to work?”

Shiro made a noncommittal noise. Some of his coworkers would say that. 

“I offered to stay and look over a project so my friend could get home to her family.”

Keith’s brows winged up a little at that.

“What about you?” Shiro pulled a plastic shopping bag from one of the breakroom drawers and stuffed his shirt inside. 

Keith shrugged. “Everyone else had plans. I didn’t. So.”

There was a beat of silence. Shiro studied the young man. The fridge hummed, rattling a little. In his back pocket, his phone still issued the cheerful notes of holiday music. 

“I should clock out.” Keith turned, pushing the cleaning cart toward the hall elevator. 

Shiro warred with himself for a moment before stepping forward. The handles of the plastic bag rustled faintly between his shaking fingers. 

“Hey, Keith. Wait.”

Keith turned back, brows raising slightly.

Shiro swallowed past the lump that had risen up in his throat suddenly.

“You can absolutely say ‘no’, but it’s just that since  _ you _ don’t have any plans and  _ I _ don’t have any plans, would you maybe like to go out for dinner or something?”

It was quiet. Shiro’s heartbeat thumped loudly in his ears. Heat crept up the back of his neck and threatened to crawl over his cheeks. Had he overstepped?

One corner of Keith’s mouth curled up, that little dimple forming again in his cheek. 

“Sure, Shiro. I’d...I’d like that.”

Every part of Shiro surged with sheer giddiness. He couldn’t fight the grin that pulled at his cheeks. 

“Okay. Great. Okay. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Keith nodded, looking more than a little bemused by Shiro’s excited tone. He disappeared behind the elevator doors. 

Shiro raced back to his office. 

He drafted a quick e-mail to Pidge and Allura about the code before sending it off without further ado. His laptop slid into its case with a soft hiss from the material before he stuffed it into his bag. The buttons of his jacket gave him a moment of trouble before he forced himself to breathe. 

“Not a date. This is  _ not _ a date. Just dinner.” 

Shiro closed up his office and impatiently waited for the elevator to carry him down to the lobby. 

The doors whisked open with a soft, musical chime. Shiro stepped out, still fussing with the fold of his scarf.

Keith waited by the entrance of the building, hands jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket. The hood of a dark red hoodie hung back from the turned-up collar. It was threadbare in some spots. Sensible black shoes had been traded for a pair of scuffed boots. A pair of keys dangled from one of his belt loops. 

“Hey.” Keith’s voice was quiet, barely echoing in the spacious lobby.

“Ready?” The excitement Shiro had tried so hard to tamp down on sparked back to life.

Keith nodded, pushing the door wide and stepping into the cold. Shiro grinned at him.

The parking lot was empty save for Shiro’s car. A thin blanket of snow had settled over everything. Fat flakes drifted down, almost seeming to dance in the light of the streetlamps.

Keith hesitated near the front the car. The tops of his cheeks had pinked in the cold air. Snowflakes clung to the hair that peeked out from his hood. 

Headlights flashed before the car’s engine purred. A shingle of snow slid down onto Shiro’s hand as he opened the trunk. He must’ve made a face because Keith snorted from the front of the car. 

“What?” Shiro began clearing the snow from the car.

Keith shook his head, shoulders lifting the tiniest bit. 

With the car cleared and the sodden snow brush tossed back into the trunk, Shiro peered over the hood at Keith.

Scuffed boots shuffled in the dusting of snow. Long black lashes fanned down over flushed cheeks. Keith’s lips pressed together in a thin line.

“You coming?”

“Yeah.” Keith tugged the car door open and slid into the passenger seat. He knocked his boots off before carefully arranging them on the mat in footwell.

Something behind Shiro’s ribs fluttered at the act. He pushed it down and checked the mirrors out of habit. 

Snow crunched beneath the car’s tires as they left the lot. The pristine dusting gave way to the slushy grey that coated the edges of the road. 

Keith’s jacket squeaked against the seat a little as he shifted. His phone glowed in his palm as he tapped away at the screen. He glanced over at Shiro, face half-shadowed in the dim light from the dash and his phone. 

“Where are you taking us?”

“There’s this great place down on Garrison and West-”

“The Red Lion.” Keith finished tapping at his phone’s screen and shoved it into his jacket pocket. 

“You know it?” Shiro looked over, shoes squeaking a bit as he braked to obey the stoplight. 

Red light washed through the windshield. It caught at Keith’s eyes and made the bones of his cheeks and the line of his nose seem sharper. Shadow pooled beneath the curve of his lower lip. 

The light changed and Shiro trained his gaze back on the road with an inward shake. 

“Yeah. You could say that.” 

There was something in the way that Keith said it that made Shiro’s mind rattle with the need to know more. He pushed that back and took the next turn.

“You have a nice car.” Keith’s fingertips skimmed over the car’s dash lightly. 

“Thank you.” Shiro snuck another glance over. “Do you drive?”

The city’s public transportation was fair enough that most of Shiro’s coworkers used it almost exclusively. Pidge had only recently bought her Hybrid.The little sea-glass green vehicle was her pride and joy. 

“Yeah. But bikes are hard to drive in the winter so…”

“You have a bike?”  _ It fits him _ , Shiro thought, waiting for the last light to change. 

Keith nodded, “I’ve got a picture if you want to see.”

Slush and water splashed up as Shiro pulled the car into the Red Lion’s small lot. 

The windows glowed a warm gold against the faded brick of the exterior. Strands of lights swayed in the wind from the edges of the windows. The scarlet lion painted onto the front window looked more black than red in the light of the streetlamps.

The car doors clapped shut softly. Keith rounded the front of the car, thumbing the screen of his phone. His breath hung in the air and he tilted the phone so Shiro could see.

In slightly blurry pixels, Keith leaned against a brilliantly red machine. A matching helmet rested in the space between his arm and hip. His brows were slanted down into a half-scowl, like he’d been asked to pose for the picture and wasn’t over the moon about it. Shiro’s stomach flipped.

“Wow.”

The phone screen went dark and Keith tucked it back into his pocket.

“Thanks.” It fell on a huff from Keith’s lips. Something too short and light to be a laugh but still made warmth bubble up behind Shiro’s sternum.

Keith stomped his feet and looked up at the beckoning light from the windows. 

“C’mon. It’s freezing out here.”

Shiro pulled himself from his thoughts and followed after him.

The door swung open under Keith’s hand. Chimes sounded, little wands of silvery metal ringing together even after the door fell shut. The warm scent of cooking food made Shiro’s stomach rumble. Oil sizzled and spat cheerfully behind the counter. A handful of cooks moved around the kitchen as they chattered amongst themselves. The cat figurine on the counter watched over the dining area with yellow eyes that clicked at they shifted.

A slender woman with gold bangles around her wrists and a necklace of tiny blinking fairy lights greeted them with a smile. She took their orders and called them over her shoulder before assuring them them that their food would be ready shortly. 

Keith knocked the toe of his boot against the floor. A ring of white has started to appear around the soles as they dried. 

“Seems like a guy like you should’ve had plans for the holidays.” 

Shiro huffed a laugh. “A guy like me?”

Keith ducked his head a bit, shoulders lifting. 

“You’re a...Good-looking guy with a good job. You’ve gotta have somewhere to be during the holidays. Family or a girlfriend or whatever.”

The tips of Shiro’s ears burned. Keith thought he was good-looking?

“No. No plans for me.” Shiro watched a car slowly move down the road. “My grandmother passed away a few years ago. She was the last family I had. And I’m not dating anyone, so.”

Keith’s brows slanted and his eyes softened.

“Sorry about your family.”

Shiro smiled half-heartedly, “Thank you.”

The woman returned, sliding their orders across the counter with another smile. They picked a seat near the window and settled down. 

Keith shucked his jacket and pulled his chopsticks apart with a neat move. Shiro joined him, setting his coat on the bench. He pulled some napkins from the dispenser on the table and draped them over his knees. 

They spoke as they ate, about nothing and everything and things in-between. 

Keith flicked his wadded-up straw wrapper at Shiro with a boyish grin at one point. Shiro retaliated by stealing a bite of orange chicken from Keith’s plate. 

Their ankles knocked together under the table as they laughed over their food. Warmth built in Shiro’s stomach and chest as Keith leaned his elbows on the table. His lips quirked up as he laughed quietly.

“What?” Shiro asked.

Keith used his egg roll to soak up the last of the rice and soy sauce on his plate. 

“This just...Wasn’t the way I pictured spending this Christmas. But it’s definitely been the nicest I’ve had in awhile. So. Thanks.”

The warmth in Shiro’s chest glowed brilliantly. He was helpless against the smile that crept across his face. 

“I’m glad.”

Keith toyed with his chopsticks, lower lip tucking between his teeth for a moment. 

Snow fell steadily outside. The strings of lights rattled quietly against the window. Somewhere in the kitchen, someone laughed heartily. Christmas music played softly from somewhere Shiro couldn’t spot. Maybe a radio in the kitchen given the crackles of static here and there. 

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” 

Shiro blinked, heart stuttering. 

Keith was watching him intently, fingertips white where they held his chopsticks. 

“Uh. No.”

“Would you like to? If you don’t, that’s fine. You don’t have to-”

“Yes.”

Keith’s chopsticks knocked against his plate a little too loudly. His smile made Shiro’s chest tighten. 

There was a loud beep from the bench beside Keith. He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and glowered at the screen. When he looked up at Shiro, the look softened a bit. 

“I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Disappointment made Shiro’s stomach dip. He pushed it down and nodded before reaching for his own coat. 

“I should probably get going, too.”

Keith hastily threw his jacket on, fingers catching on the zipper. He stopped beside Shiro sharply with his hand out. His phone screen glowed on a new contact prompt.

“Here. Punch your number in. I’ll text you later?” Keith’s voice trailed in a way that made the sentence sound more like a question.

Shiro took the phone, still warm from Keith’s hands, and entered his number. Keith’s knuckles brushed his as he passed it back. 

“Thanks, again, Shiro.” Keith hesitated like he wanted to say more before pressing his lips together. He made for the door before Shiro could reply.

The chimes tinkled merrily. The door fell shut with a soft metallic noise. 

Gold appeared in Shiro’s periphery. The woman from the counter picked up their dishes with a quiet wish for a happy holiday.

Shiro returned them as he stuffed his arms back into the sleeves of his jacket. He pushed a few bills into the tip jar and stepped into the cold again. His phone chirped from his pocket.

The number was one he didn’t recognize with a text message notification. He thumbed the screen as he settled into the driver’s seat and shut the door. 

**Happy Christmas**

**-Keith**

Shiro smiled the whole ride home.

  
  
  
  



End file.
